Something
by TheGodmother2
Summary: A little something because it will never be this easy with Walt and Vic.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is a first chapter that has been sitting around forever and I don't think it will ever be more than that. Just a little something to tide us over till the 10th cause it will never be this easy between them...lol.**_

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The Super Bowl crowd dissipates and there's not a tortilla chip left in the tri-county area. Walt living up to his promise helps Henry with the crowd playing half-bouncer, half-bus boy and a whole lot of dishwasher they make it through the biggest bar night of the year.

Cady and her college roommate are on a Super Bowl cruise enjoying the frivolity of youth. Vic rolls in relieving Ferg and she rolls up the sleeves of her olive green Henley cracking wise in the process.

"Hey I don't work for free despite any lies this one may have told you." She laughs and cracks open a longneck taking very long and very appealing swigs of the cold brew.

Walt points, "I'm due one of those."

She smiles and hands him a cold bottle of beer.

His long scarred back covered in a soft worn navy blue cotton long sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled presses against the bar facing the half clean, half swept room, and he drowns the bottle in three long gulps.

Reaching back and opening another longneck she joins him with the same fast results. The third beer has him back in the dining room busing the rest of the dishes.

"I'll get the broom and start sweeping over here." She says and she does while she drains her third beer and of course Walt takes that as a challenge. He polishes his fourth and finishes cleaning, moping, wiping and moving.

When they are done he grabs two more beers and they sit at opposite ends of one of the freshly cleaned tables. It's just them in the glow of the neon and fresh pine smell of clean.

"Where's Henry?" She asks like she just now notices he's not at the bar.

"Driving drunk customers home." He smiles, his fingertips press into the wooden table, "You know how he is." He points to the pictures and the rings of keys, "He'll keep those keys as long as he has to."

Walt gives her a half smile and makes it half-way through his bottle. He feels the buzz begin as he sets the amber colored glass on the table.

"Why did you stay?" His inner voice didn't stay inner.

Her eyes dart to his but she doesn't show surprise. She doesn't show anything. It's almost as if she expected the question.

"You asked me to."

"Does that mean you will do whatever I ask?" His eyebrows rise and he surprises himself with his boldness because it definitely has connotations.

She laughs, "I'll take the bait but only because I've had four beers. What did you have in mind to ask?" Her smile stays perched on her lips. It's a nervous gesture just like his fingertips on the table.

He drains the last of the beer, "I'll think of something." And the flirtatious smile spreads across his lips.

"Don't wait too long Walt." She challenges him.

It's quiet between the two of them as they both realize they have said too much, too soon, with too many implications and complications.

"I'll be embarrassed in the morning won't I?" He offers like he's talking to himself, chastising himself for letting the chains off of his desires.

"Probably," She answers, peeling the label off of her bottle, exposing the colored glass beneath containing the truth serum.

Walt reaches out and touches her hand, she clasps the bottle a little tighter, his fingertips trace over hers, and his omniscient eyes travel their path finding hers glistening, staring, and giving permission.

"I don't want to be embarrassed." He says so soft, not letting this get away.

"We're too drunk to drive." Vic lays out the logic of the situation because she knows him and she knows this is an anomaly and anomalies are usually a disaster that's why they are called anomalies.

He rubs his long thick fingers across his lips, engaging and thinking, acknowledging that she hasn't moved her hand and hasn't discouraged him either.

The distinct sound of the glass filled wooden door shutting snaps them both back and as Henry's boots make their way through the double saloon doors Walt retrieves his hand and Vic her glance each fully aware their drunken murmurs are just as meaningless as their sober casual flirtations.

"Did I interrupt something?" Henry says slightly askew.

Walt looks at Vic, his eyes not leaving her, "Yeah, everything."


	2. Chapter 2

_**The power of persuasion. It works. lol. I never had any intention of writing more but there will have to be a third chapter. I'm posting this short chapter while I try to figure out where they go from here. The pressure is on as I want this done by Thursday. As for the PM's...you all are pretty awesome...thank you for the messages.**_

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The universal law of hangovers is in full effect for them and as they meet the next morning over the freshly brewed coffee Ruby started just minutes before they face each other at the coffee pot.

"How's your head?" He asks before she could say something he wasn't prepared to answer.

"Why isn't the Monday after the Super Bowl an official hangover holiday?" She sighs, exasperated, rubbing her forehead.

She looks good, though, despite the obvious signs of post intoxication and Walt leans a little closer holding his empty cup down by his hip as a minute barrier between them. He holds out his open palm like a slick magician with two aspirin balanced between the creases.

She reaches for them, her fingertips pinch them with concentrated effort, relieving his hand of the small pills but she lets her fingers linger there a moment longer than necessary and he traces the underside of her hand.

"Thanks."

She says perching them on her tongue and taking a sip of water both of them equally flirtatious in their actions.

"You're welcome."

He smiles and it's confident and it's sure and warm and all the things she wants it to be.

He turns and looks around as if he is surveying a crime scene, "So, ah, Henry got you home alright?"

"Obviously." Her eyes roll back in her head thinking he can do so much better than this.

"I'm sorry I couldn't take you home." He's looking at her, dead at her, and she waits but he doesn't offer any more like he's stuck and just when she is about to walk away he touches her.

"Vic, ah, I probably shouldn't ask this here, you know at work standing over the coffee pot." He smiles, that nervous quick little smile, the one she hasn't seen in a very long time.

He looks down, folds his fingers into his hand just leaving his index finger exposed and lightly trails down her forearm to her hand as if he has a right to this and has done it a million times.

"I was wondering if you would like to go have dinner sometime you know away from here or something?" The quick grin flashes.

"Are you asking me on a date?" After all of this time she's not quite sure of him anymore and the mixed signals have taken their toll.

He shifts his weight and his finger tucks into the web of her hand, "Yeah." His voice is deep and serious and certain.

Her eyes don't shift and she tightens the grip around his finger for a moment just before saying, "Ok."

His eyebrows arch, the way they do when he's surprised by the answer of a question he didn't already know the answer to, "Ok?"

She speaks slowly like he's a little slow but she's sweet at the same time, "Yeah, Walt. Ok." She takes her hand back, pours her coffee, and walks over to her desk with him on her tail.

He scratches his two day growth, "Hum, how about Wednesday?"

Vic lifts her head and her ponytail bops, "You can't wait until Friday like normal people?" Her voice is a little light, a little flirtatious.

"No." His intensity is a little unnerving but he breaks it with the peek of a grin.

"Saturday works better."

She looks at him knowingly positioning herself, making her play, and forcing his hand. She's setting the boundaries early and she knows it and he knows it and though he's unsure of the game he knows there's one going on.

"Saturday, I'll pick you up around five, your house?" His voice trails off but there's no doubt in his sentiment.

Her smile matches her nod and he looks over his shoulder and snaps back into the reality of their morning.

If you were to ask either of them the passing days were torture but they would deny it of course and pretend that the tension in the office was normal but it wasn't and they weren't and when Saturday rolled around they were both terrified they were making a mistake.


	3. Chapter 3

"I haven't done this in a long time." He admits knowing that the more he tries to hide his nervousness the more it will show and he knows enough about her to understand that he never wants to be nervous with her, ever.

"Come on, Walt." She says half-humored.

He answers with his customary, "um," as he takes one long stride past her, his chest brushes her shoulder and he blades her body while he grabs the truck door handle.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to, um" his voice trails off and the fast flash of teeth nearly saves him but not quite.

"It hasn't been that long. You had plenty of practice with Lizzie." She digs because she can and in truth she knows she was always jealous and always a little angry even though she had absolutely no right to be either.

He holds open the door and for a moment she thinks he didn't hear her or worse he chose to ignore her and as she presses into the seat she thinks she was wrong about him. He's just like all the rest. He's weak.

She folds her skirt over her lap to move it from the door jam and he stays there, and he's close, and he's touching her side with his chest, his hand gripping the edge of the door frame. He looks over and sighs and pulls his pants up the way he does then he looks back at her, gritting his teeth.

"Lizzie was a distraction." He says it like he's quoting the weather report.

She turns to face him, her eyes blank but indignant and before she can retort he leans in just a little and says kind of low, " A necessary but unfortunate distraction and I was wrong but it's done now."

She gathers her senses, pleased that her momentary assessment of him was wrong, and her approval of him is transparent then suddenly without any warning or prediction he leans a little closer and she does too and their closed lips press together but neither one of them says anything and they don't touch each other or paw at each other instead she leans back in her seat while he closes the door like they have rehearsed this in their imaginations and he walks around and gets behind the wheel and as he turns the key in the ignition he looks over at her and asks, "You ready?"

He's asking about more than dinner but it doesn't change her answer, "Yeah."

It is pleasant enough as first dates go between friends. The unsureness and battlefield of nerves is absent as they relax into casual conversation that centers around work, Durant, and Absaroka in general. Vic doesn't feel the need to impress him so she orders a steak and he does the same and they laugh and smile and tease like they used too back before the darkness took over. Neither one of them talks about it and neither one of them is prepared to talk about it really so they avoid it and after dinner they stroll to the ice cream shop Walt spotted on the main street and somewhere between the first block and the second block he finds her hand and she holds her fingers together and presses her palm into his.

They stand in line with all the other Saturday night couples and study the flavors on the multicolored chalked menu. Walt steps behind her, fists ground in his pockets, and his eyes focused on the chalkboard to avoid being distracted by the scent of coconut filling her hair. A couple of recalcitrant kids run through the shop and bump into him forcing his hands up and onto Vic's back.

"Sorry, Mister."

The obviously frazzled mom calls them back over and apologizes. Walt smiles and retrieves his hands.

"You didn't have to move them."

She says without looking at him so he steps just a little closer with his hands splayed on her hips and she leans back into his chest and he feels the heat from her body and the thought flashes that they fit and he smiles because it's like he's always imagined in his day dreams.

"What are you going to have?" His baritone voice hovers above her head.

"I'm still thinking."

Vic's distraction weighs on her mind as she tries to remain cool while pressed against him. She's always wanted to touch him like this and the urge to do so has altered her behavior over the years. She's conditioned herself to ignore him and dismiss his sexuality and now that she can acknowledge it she is a bit thrown by what to do with it because being with him is easier than she ever thought possible. She thinks that the proverbial shoe will drop at any moment and she catches herself holding her breath and waiting.

They stand and keep their places in line and when they reach the cold counter the aged clerk smiles brightly his large brown eyes radiate through his square black glass frames, "Welcome to the Shop. What can I get the missus?"

Walt expects a scatological response and intercedes, "Anything she wants." He smiles at the clerk and he repositions his grip on her hip and he can feel her flinch.

"I'll have what he's having." Her words are stilted as she displays her best behavior.

"Double scoop of chocolate."

"Just plain chocolate?" The clerk asks.

"Yup."

"Living it up, I see." He jokes.

"Yup, usually get vanilla." Walt gives him a rare glimpse of his campaign smile.

Vic laughs out loud and puts her hand on his threading his fingers through hers just before reaching up and taking her cone.

She turns around, looks up, and smiles, "I'd offer you a lick, but you have the same flavor."

He feels his ears getting hot and he takes his cone, "Here hold this while I pay the man."

They smile at each other and walk down the street eating their ice cream completely at ease with each other and in the fictitious world they are presently walking in they silently agree to hang out there for a while.

At her house, he walks her to her door, and he takes off his hat and holds it in his hand circling the brim round and round out of habit.

"I had a lovely time, Walt." She smiles and she's beautiful.

"Me, too." He says. "It was nice." His face is a bit pensive and he can feel it, he can feel everything, and it doesn't scare him because he's convinced she feels it too.

He cants his head and leans forward and she meets him half-way, his fingers trace her cheek and rest on her ear as his slightly parted lips meet hers. They stand there in the deep darkness of night and they kiss and hold each other and it feels good, it feels natural, it feels right.

Their hands are tentative though their hearts aren't and she pulls away, his face flush, "I need to say goodnight." She says into his chest.

She can feel his heart beating through her fingers. Out of habit and past experience she's prepared to offer a host of defenses for denying him but he tells her goodnight in her ear and leans back.

Vic can't help but notice the bulge in his jeans but she doesn't stare at it or touch it or say anything because if she does he will be saying good morning instead and as much as she wants him she knows she's not ready, not yet.

He smiles his beautiful tight lipped smile and asks, "Would you like to go out again for dinner or something?"

She nods, "That would be nice."

He kisses her on the side of her mouth and says, "Great, so, ah, goodnight."

He gives her a quick grin and a faint wave and walks back to his truck and she knows without a doubt it will be or something.

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 _ **If only they could be this easy! The rest is for your imagination. See you on the other side of season 4.**_


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